The Return
by caeli1701
Summary: [written early series 5, spoilers up to 5x04] Jimmy returns to Downton unexpectedly after receiving a letter from Baxter.
1. Chapter 1

[originally here on Oct. 14]

So this fic is based heavily off of this post by the Thommy Goddess Flippyspoon, who let me use her idea.

**Spoilers up to 5x04.**

As always no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

Thomas stared off into the dark, the cigarette in his hand unlit. He could smell rain in the air, but it wasn't here yet.

It was late, and he should have been in bed hours ago. He'd only come out for a nighttime smoke after dinner, but somehow he'd just gotten… stuck. He'd been standing in the courtyard like a statue ever since, unable to move. He couldn't make himself go back inside and he couldn't wander out into the yard—he couldn't even light his cigarette. He was fairly certain the last of something inside him had been snuffed out today. Maybe it was the treatment that had done it—maybe it had to crush a man before it could rebuild him anew. He hoped so, anyway. He'd been feeling so ill since he'd started the injections. If he collapsed a third time he'd be in trouble and no mistake. Baxter hadn't stopped badgering him, either, not since she'd found him that first day.

A raindrop hit his coat, and it made a soft _pat_ against the wool. Then another touched his shoulder, and another, and another, and then all at once the black sky opened above him, and it began to pour down in buckets.

_I suppose I should go inside now,_ Thomas thought.

And yet still he didn't move. Perhaps he'd stay out here all night, then, and tomorrow the hallboys would find him standing there like a ghost and everyone would be shocked at his behavior.

Thomas was dully imagining such a scenario when he heard a sound beneath the rain. It was growing louder, a kind of quick rhythmic shuffling in the grass.

Footsteps?

But who could be coming to Downton so late at night? Had to be robbers or angry revolutionaries, perhaps Sarah Bunting with a flaming torch. Who else would…?

All the breath left Thomas's body when he saw a familiar figure emerge from the shadows, the light from Downton's windows illuminating his face.

It was _Jimmy._

"Thomas?"

Jimmy came towards him with what seemed unlikely speed, and Thomas felt a thrill of terror at his approach. When Jimmy reached him he made as if to embrace him, then seemed to check himself at the last second and instead clasped Thomas's forearms and squeezed, just a bit too hard over his bruises.

" What are you doing out here?" Jimmy asked breathlessly. "It's raining, let's go inside, you shouldn't be —"

Thomas found he could move after all. He jerked away from Jimmy as if he'd been burned. "_No._ What are _you_—what are you doing here, Jimmy?"

_If you're here I won't be able to change!_

Jimmy's eyes went wide at his accusatory tone. "Let's—let's talk inside, it's beastly cold and wet—"

"_No_, first you tell me what you're doing here. They won't hire you again so why would you ever come back?"

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said. He looked upset, now. "I—I came because I had a letter you were ill. I was worried, and—."

Thomas saw red at that. _"Baxter?"_ he hissed. "Sh-she told you, didn't she? Thought she'd meddle in my personal affairs, have a good laugh over it, I bet!"

"What d'ya mean? Thomas, I don't know what you're so angry for, I thought you'd be happy to see me."

_"_Happy?!" Thomas seized Jimmy's lapels and pulled him close. "I'm not _happy_, Jimmy. And I know you're a liar, Baxter told you all about it and now you're here to try and stop me, aren't you? Well, it's not going to work!"

Thomas shoved him away, watching him stumble backwards with cold satisfaction. Jimmy's little gray cap fell off into the mud, and his face was the very picture of distress. Distantly Thomas felt a pang in his heart at that, like the pinprick of a needle.

"Alright, she did tell me about what you've been doing!" Jimmy confessed. "And I _am_ going to stop you, and you can't stop me from doing that!"

"What's it to you, huh?" Thomas demanded, hoarsely. He'd never fought like this with Jimmy before, and he was shocked at how quickly the anger filled him. "Some _pal_ you've been Jimmy, only writing me_ once_ in all this time! You can't do a damn thing to stop me, and it isn't any of your business!"

Jimmy's face went white, and he launched himself at Thomas. He gripped Thomas's jacket and pushed him back until he collided with the wall. He kept his hold on Thomas's lapels, and he shoved his body into Thomas's, too, pinning him in place. In his current state Thomas was too weak to escape him.

"J-j-just stop it, Thomas! Let's go inside and—and we'll settle down and talk about it. Please. We're still friends, no matter what you say!"

For a moment Thomas wanted to lash out again, perhaps push Jimmy away until he fell this time, but he looked into Jimmy's pleading face and found he couldn't do it. He closed his eyes against him and pressed his mouth tight… and nodded, once. Jimmy's tense body slumped with relief, and he pulled away.

Numbly Thomas turned and opened the door and led Jimmy inside, both of them dripping. As if nothing had changed at all in their time apart, Jimmy hung up his things on the coat rack, and together they shuffled into the servant's hall and sat down in their old chairs by the fire, just as they used to do.

Jimmy's golden hair looked dark when it was wet, Thomas noticed. He was painfully lovely. Looking at him made Thomas feel a rush of familiar, tender emotions, ones that had never fully left him. Clearly the treatment hadn't done its job yet, but then, it hadn't been long since he'd started. Perhaps it would just take more time.

_"Christ,"_ Jimmy breathed, suddenly. He was staring at Thomas.

Thomas was well aware of what he looked like under the bright electric lights. He was gray and pale as an old man, and his eyes were red and shadowed in their sockets. But it was the price he paid, wasn't it? If he lost his beauty but became happy at the end of it, he wouldn't mind, because he wanted that. All he wanted was to be happy, and not to be alone anymore.

Thomas waited for Jimmy to say something. He braced himself like stone for the barrage of words, but they never came. All Thomas could hear was Jimmy's shaky breathing mingling with his own.

"Might be trouble if someone finds you here," Thomas said eventually. "You didn't come to visit properly, during the day. Carson wouldn't like it."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Jimmy mumbled. "If someone finds us I'll say I forced meself past you. I won't have you in trouble because of me. Um, at least not this time—not ever again."

Thomas snorted in disbelief, but he let it slide. "Alright, better explain yourself, then. Why'd you come so late?"

_Why'd you come at all?_

Jimmy looked down at the floor. "I… I got into town on the last train. I rented meself a room and I were going to wait till tomorrow to come, o' course, but—but I just had this terrible feeling that I _shouldn't_ wait. Thought I'd just have a look at the house for a bit and turn around, but… I dunno. Once I were here it were like I were being drawn in, right to the door. I've—I've missed this place, Thomas. I had a job in York but I—anyway, I'll go. I'll go now, shall I, and I'll come back to see you tomorrow. Just try and get warm and rest, and…"

Jimmy rose from the chair and Thomas panicked. His hand shot out and gripped Jimmy's wrist. "No—you're here already. Why don't you just say your little piece, and then leave me alone? Then you won't have to come back."

Oh, he hated how his voice trembled, how weak he was in this, always. And it hurt so much to be nasty to Jimmy.

"I'm _not_ doing that, Thomas," Jimmy jerked his arm out of Thomas's grip. "You won't get rid of me so easy."

But he sounded uncertain.

"What, then?" Thomas sneered. "Want to come up to me room now, see what's in the box? Tell me it's dangerous and it won't work?"

Thomas expected an angry retort—or a denial—but he didn't get either. Instead Jimmy clenched his jaw shut and looked so much like a soldier that it silenced Thomas.

"Since you're offering," Jimmy said. He looked at Thomas as if he were daring him to _do_ something, but this was as far from schoolyard mischief as night was from day. Thomas stared back, his face a mask. When Jimmy didn't so much as blink in return Thomas sighed, and stood up, too.

"Fine. Come on, then."

When the door had shut behind them Thomas went straight to his wardrobe and removed the box. His hands were shaking.

"Here," he shoved it into Jimmy's chest, and Jimmy took it clumsily. He wanted this over with—he didn't want Jimmy finding the time to chat, or catch up. If he did any of that, if he so much as _smiled_ at Thomas, it might break him.

Jimmy moved slowly to Thomas's desk chair and sank into it. Thomas couldn't bear to watch him raise the lid, so he sat down on the bed and stared at the wall, his heart pounding.

Long minutes ticked by.

Thomas listened as Jimmy removed and examined the pills, the syringe, the spoon and the tourniquet. He heard him whisper, _"Choose Your Own Path…"_ with all the horror of the trenches. Thomas listened as his most pathetic secrets were revealed to the last person on earth he'd ever want near them. If Jimmy pitied him he wouldn't be able to bear it. He felt as if he would vomit, or faint, but he wasn't sure if it were the medicine this time, or if it were Jimmy peeling back his skin and seeing inside him.

"_Why_, Thomas?" Jimmy whispered.

Thomas flinched. But why hide anything at this point? Jimmy already knew the worst; Thomas might as well tell him the full truth.

"Because I'm tired, Jimmy," he said softly. "I'm tired of being alone and unhappy. I'm sick of being different, apart from everyone else. I—I just want a normal life, like any other man. But I can't, not when I'm like this. So… I'm going to change. I have to try or I'll die alone. I know it."

He dared a glance at Jimmy then, and wished he hadn't. Jimmy was white as a sheet, and green around the edges as if _he_ were the one about to be sick.

"But…" Jimmy said in a small voice. "But _that_ night… you told Mr. Carson you weren't foul. Just different."

At first Thomas didn't know what he were talking about. His thoughts had been sluggish since he'd started the treatment. But then he remembered that painful, long-ago conversation with Carson after he'd kissed Jimmy.

Jimmy had been listening in?

"I—I used to believe that," Thomas said. "I still do, really. But— the world has never agreed with me, Jimmy. It's why I can never be happy, being the way I am. So I've got to… change. But if you're here I can't, so: you need to go. Please. Writing letters is all you need do for me."

_"No."_

There were tears standing in Jimmy's eyes. "No," he said again, stronger this time. "You've got to stop this, Thomas. You'll kill yourself with this snake oil potion, its rubbish! Baxter told me you've been collapsing, and that you haven't been eating and that you've been sick, and just _look_ at you! You're not well. This is mad, all of it!"

Thomas was suddenly furious.

"Yeah, and what do you know about it?" he spat, standing up to tower over Jimmy. "How dare you say anything—_you_ make your own trouble, Jimmy Kent. If you'd stop acting such fool your life would be a bloody _picture_ show! Little ladies' man, so _handsome_—you'll find yourself a wife someday, and have loads of children and family and love. You could never know what it's like, living your life alone like this. I just, I can't stand it anymore. I'm _done._ You have a chance at happiness I'll never know, not unless I change. So…so stop giving orders. You don't know anything, especially not about me."

The tears were spilling down Jimmy's face, now. Thomas had hurt him terribly, saying those things. But they—they were all _true, Thomas told himself. And Jimmy's hurt was surely nothing to his, because he couldn't know._ He wasn't like Thomas.

"I just wanted you to be happy," Jimmy said, looking at Thomas through the tears. "I told you so, didn't I? When I said goodbye."

Thomas nodded. His own eyes were burning, now, and Jimmy's image wavered in front of him like a mirage.

"That's what I'm trying to _do_, Jimmy."

Jimmy took an unsteady breath, and swiped at his tears. Then with a suddenness that made Thomas gasp, Jimmy ripped off his jacket, unbuttoned the cuff on his right arm and rolled up his sleeve.

"What are you doing?!"

It was as if Jimmy couldn't hear him. He grabbed the tourniquet next and tied it around his arm, then he reached for the syringe, his hands shaking. Thomas had his next dose already loaded, and watched in horror as Jimmy held the needle to the vulnerable flesh of his inner forearm.

"Stop it, that's dangerous!" Thomas cried, stepping forward to tear the needle away from Jimmy.

But Jimmy snarled a warning and backed away, bent over the syringe at his arm. He moved it against the skin, a visible threat._ "No!"_

"Stop it, Jimmy! You're mad, that's not for you—it could hurt you! Please just put it down!"

_Oh, god_, if Jimmy injected himself without clearing any air bubbles, he'd die! Thomas raised both hands in surrender, trying to calm Jimmy who was like some wild creature, face red and twisted and pouring tears.

"No, Thomas—!" Jimmy sobbed. "I might as well—_because I'm the same as you!"_

Jimmy's thumb shifted on the plunger, and Thomas moved without thinking, flying to him and ripping it away with all the force he could muster. The syringe went spinning into the wall, where it burst and shattered, spilling the drug in a small puddle on the floor.

They stared at each other in the silence afterward, panting.

"What…_what_ did you say, Jimmy?"

Jimmy's face crumbled up in anguish, and fresh tears poured from his eyes. His hands hovered between them helplessly, as if he wanted to reach for Thomas but dared not touch him.

And… it didn't require any thought in the end: it was instinct. Thomas went to Jimmy and pulled him into an embrace, and he didn't let go until Jimmy had released every tear and painful sob trapped in his body.

It took a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy had been silent for a while now, but Thomas hadn't let go of him yet, and Jimmy's hands were still tightly fisted in Thomas's shirt.

If what Jimmy had said were _true_—and it must be for him to say it— then Thomas had been wrong about him. So very wrong, about so many things. Jimmy must have been suffering something awful for a long time, and Thomas—his _dearest friend_—hadn't known it.

How had he not known it?

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," Thomas said heavily. "I'm sorry for those things I said. About you. I didn't mean them."

Jimmy sniffed. "I-I know. And I'm sorry, too, Thomas. You can never know how sorry. But you were right—I_ have_ been a fool."

Thomas shook his head, and tightened his hold around Jimmy's shoulders.

They were quiet again, and Thomas couldn't help but close his eyes and enjoy the feeling of Jimmy in his arms. He hadn't been so close to another human being in so long, and he'd never held_ Jimmy_ before this. It was almost unbearably sweet. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jimmy was warm even as damp as they both were. His hair smelled like rain and cigarettes and cheap soap. Apart from anything else he'd missed Jimmy terribly these long months he'd been gone. The pain of his absence had been the last straw for Thomas in more ways than one.

But even as sweet as their reunion was, eventually questions began to occur to him, intruding on the contentment he felt in Jimmy's arms.

Why hadn't Jimmy ever said anything about this before?

Why had he gone after Ivy and Lady Anstruther, if he were really like Thomas?

Did Jimmy want _Thomas_, specifically? Had he ever wanted him? Or was it some other man Jimmy had met who had won his affections, and he considered Thomas a friend only? That would certainly explain a lot.

Or maybe Jimmy hated the way he was, truly, and his bluff with the medication hadn't been entirely a bluff. Maybe he'd never wanted any of it and had meant to live a lie as many men did, or perhaps he didn't believe in _drugs_ to cure him and instead wanted some other form of assistance; there were more than one option, as Thomas had cause to know.

It was all too much to think of, and Thomas's legs were starting to ache with fatigue for standing so long. His body had been weakened greatly. As much as he hated to, he pulled away from Jimmy.

"Alright, now?"

Jimmy sniffed and nodded, not meeting his eyes. "How… how did no one hear us?" he asked, attempting a watery smile.

Thomas shrugged. "It's been raining fit to drown us all in our beds, could be covering the sounds."

The rain_ was_ loud and heavy on the roof and against the windows, but it was a roar he hadn't heard over the drama that had just played out between them. Their fight in the courtyard seemed years ago already.

Jimmy nodded again, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

"Let's… sit down," Thomas reached around Jimmy and scooped all his paraphernalia back into the box, and forced the lid shut over the messy contents. Then he gently led Jimmy by the elbow to the bed, where he sat him on it. Thomas took the chair this time, keeping Jimmy well away from the box.

"You should burn it, Thomas," Jimmy muttered darkly.

Thomas swallowed hard, but didn't answer. He didn't know what he wanted to do with the box now. All he knew was that Jimmy's stunt with the needle had scared him badly, and had resurrected some logical voice inside him that had been missing since Jimmy's departure.

_If it's frightening and dangerous to think of him doing it to himself,_ the voice asked, _why should you do it to yourself, either? Those drugs are powerful poison, nothing more, and you know it. They haven't changed your nature one bit, they've just been giving you a slow death, one you could pretend wasn't suicide. You just wanted to check out and pretend you weren't giving up._

Thomas's own thoughts terrified him. He wrestled them into silence with an effort, and forced himself to focus on Jimmy. That wasn't so hard: when Jimmy were in the room he commanded Thomas's attention, always.

"Jimmy…" Thomas asked as delicately as he could. "Why did you never say a word about _this_ before? Did you not trust me?"

Jimmy closed his eyes and shook his head emphatically. "I trust you more than anyone, anyone I've ever known me whole life."

That meant a lot, but Thomas put aside his warm feelings for now. "So, why?"

"Why do you think? I were afraid."

"Afraid of what, exactly?"

Jimmy gave him a disbelieving look. "Of all the usual things, Thomas. Damnation by God, censure by the world, bloody _prison_, personal ridicule… all of that and more."

Thomas's heart ached for him. He'd had those same fears himself, but they'd mostly been in his youth, when his body had first started to develop into a man's. But bigger problems had soon taken over his attention back then, and his internal conflicts had been largely swept away in the face of them. When he'd grown older and gotten off the streets, he'd begun to have time to think at last, and to think for _himself_ with the mind of an adult instead of a child. He'd instinctively understood how wrong the world was about many things, and about people like him in particular. His fumbling with other boys hadn't been_ evil_— his desire to find true love someday with a male companion wasn't any more evil than a normal person's desire for the same. Still, even then there'd been a part of him that was still ashamed, and still frightened of being... wrong.

Then some years later there'd been the Duke, so unapologetic and full of divine wisdom. He'd painted another picture of the world for Thomas, one that had long been in Thomas's heart already but had needed the Duke's knowledge to give it proper form and texture. Philip had given him books and scientific theories and poetry and philosophy, and he'd taught Thomas all the things men could do together in bed.

After that, even with its messy ending and cruelty on both sides, Thomas's fears had dissipated into near-nonexistence, only coming to light if Thomas happened to think someone knew about him, and might report him to the police. But those were practical concerns only—as for his more _spiritual_ fears, those had gone from him. He'd been unashamed and confident in his sexuality for many years, hopeful that one day he'd find another man he could love for the rest of his life. Somehow.

Since he'd first met Jimmy, he'd wanted that man to be him.

But of course, nothing had worked out the way he'd hoped, and over the years he'd only suffered more, and more, and still more. In Jimmy he'd found the perfect dream made flesh, and Thomas loved him dearly. But Jimmy hadn't been_ like_ Thomas in that way—or so he'd thought—and he certainly hadn't_ loved_ him in return.

Jimmy cleared his throat, startling Thomas from his thoughts. "But that's not really why I never told you. The truth is I didn't _fully_ realize— or-or accept it, anyway— until the night of the fire. But enough about me for now," he added with surprising conviction. "Thomas—I think you're full of shite."

Thomas was sure he'd misheard him. "What?"

"You—that stuff you said, about being lonely and tired and wanting to change so you won't die alone—it's bollocks."

Thomas was too bewildered to even be angry. "Oh, is that so? How is it really, then?"

Jimmy was shaking, Thomas noticed. But his voice was hard as stone. "I'm sure you really mean it, and believe it," Jimmy amended. "And it might be true—probably it is. But it's more than that. I think—I think you're _ashamed_. I think somehow you've lost yourself and become ashamed of who you are. Maybe you even hate yourself now. You're like… you're the same as I was all me life."

"Like you _were?_"

Past tense?

Thomas couldn't think. Jimmy's words were painfully resonating in his head, but he couldn't assess either their truth or their falsehood right now.

"And still am, sometimes," Jimmy admitted. His lower lip trembled as he looked at Thomas, and Thomas watched him bite it to keep it still, his eyes fiercely wide to keep the new tears from falling.

"How long have you _known?_" Thomas asked. Before Jimmy broke down a second time he had to know something definite or he'd go mad.

Jimmy huffed and smiled without humor, blinking rapidly. "You've probably known it all your life, I suppose."

Thomas shrugged and nodded to save time. It were more or less true, anyway.

"Well, not everyone's so bloody clever," Jimmy said. "I thought I fancied girls because they fancied me so much, even when I were just a boy. But—but when I were older and the other lads were always mooning about this girl or that, I thought they were all mad. I could care less about girls. Any girl. 'Cept maybe Phyllis Dare."

Thomas nodded again, to encourage him further. His heart was pounding—it were like he were really seeing Jimmy for the first time.

"And I tried it on with a girl, once, during the war," Jimmy admitted. "I… didn't like it much, but it weren't terrible, either. Still I didn't see what all the fuss were about. But I didn't think… well, sometimes I had a thought or two, about men when they smiled or changed clothes in front of me, but I thought it weren't anythin' to be truly worried about. I thought men like_ that_—" here Jimmy laughed bitterly. "Men like you and me—were deviant animals, and that they weren't real men—and I knew I couldn't be one. Well, I hoped I wasn't. In the end I decided my troubles would be solved if I could just find a _special_ girl to set me right."

"And you thought _Ivy_…?" Thomas asked incredulously. He hadn't meant to interrupt but dear lord, Ivy bloody Stuart?

Jimmy shrugged. "Well, all the blokes around here and the village fancied her, didn't they? Alfred certainly did. I thought it must be because she had_ something_ to her. Couldn't see it meself, but… " Jimmy looked chagrined. "I thought maybe if I had it off with her I'd understand it, and I'd fall in love and that, and I'd be… normal. Ah, but o'course it didn't work, especially since I already…" Jimmy faltered to a stop, his eyes flickering over Thomas briefly before he returned his gaze to the floor. He cleared his throat. "So I decided she weren't the right one after all. She were too simple and inexperienced to be of use to me, and too dull to be my girl."

Thomas's stomach clenched. "So… Lady Anstruther?"

Jimmy nodded, shamed-faced. "Well, you know— I told you I started playing with her, but I didn't really think she'd take it seriously. But she did, and she came here and I panicked. I'd changed me mind. And anyway she'd—she'd frightened me a bit when I worked for her before, though she were never unkind. But then I thought, no: this might be a perfect opportunity for me. I knew she just wanted—well, she didn't want all the things Ivy wanted, obviously, so she were safer in that way. And she might be able to fix me after all since she were older and knew what she were doing. Then you tried so hard to help me, and I…"

_You went to bed with her and got sacked and left me here alone…_ again Thomas felt sick with jealousy and anger, mixed with a healthy dose of guilt. He'd pushed Jimmy into it, after all, under the guise of trying to be a good friend. But in reality it had been as much for his own self-interest as Jimmy's. He'd wanted Jimmy to have it off with a woman right under his nose because he'd been trying so hard to stop loving Jimmy. He'd hoped if Jimmy confirmed himself a lover of women that it might help kill Thomas's painful love for him, and allow him to be free of it.

But it hadn't. Thomas had only assisted in breaking his own heart yet again where Jimmy Kent was concerned. That had been a terrible night even without the fire. And now to know Jimmy's true feelings on the matter… his guilt deepened.

Jimmy covered his eyes with his hands. "And…Thomas, it were horrible. It were even worse than the first time I did it."

Thomas wasn't sure he wanted details, but Jimmy continued before he could frame a response.

"I had to close me eyes for most of it," he said shakily. "And I had to think about—ah, a m-m-man, so I could even —you know. But she wouldn't stop bloody _talking_ while we… so in the end I couldn't even fi—so I had to pretend it. Not sure she noticed, to be honest, though she were as kind to me as she could be, I think."

Thomas had nothing to say to that.

Jimmy dropped his hands, at last. "After that I couldn't lie to meself anymore," he confessed. "I've always been so good at that you know—me whole life. I don't think anyone in the history of the world has ever been so good at it as me. Until then I never knew meself because I hid from meself so well…" he snorted a laugh, tears welling up and spilling down his red cheeks. He rubbed them away impatiently. "Or could be that I'm just that thick."

More tears. Jimmy covered his face again and leaned forward, his shoulders shaking silently. Thomas was in too much shock to move for a long moment, but at the first sound of a muffled sob he went to Jimmy and pulled him into his arms.

"No—no you don't have to," Jimmy pushed him off, but his efforts were so weak as to barely be felt. "This isn't about me, it's about _you_, you daft bloody soppy bastard. Get rid of that fucking box, burn all of it and never go back to that awful place. Please, Thomas."

"Jimmy I—I don't know wh—"

Jimmy pulled away, his bloodshot eyes desperate. "_Promise_ me, Thomas! No matter what else happens to you from now on, no matter what the world says or does or how much everything hurts—don't listen to them. You're perfect just as you are, and you sh-should never be ashamed. I was wrong to be, and you were _right!_ You were right. So please, _please_ don't hurt yourself ever again. I couldn't bear it. I'd—I'd die if anything happened to you."

Thomas found himself nodding. Some part of him had made that decision already, it had just taken until now for his mind to catch up with his heart.

"I promise," he whispered.

And he meant it. In some strange way Jimmy's story had served as a mirror to himself, though their actual experiences had differed so wildly. Thomas knew now how wrong he'd been, seeing the pain Jimmy had suffered in his own denial.

Jimmy closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath, his hands blindly finding Thomas's. Thomas returned his grip. "That day I had to leave Downton I almost told you I—but when we were saying goodbye I could see how much I'd hurt you and I realized you still loved me. I hadn't been sure you still did, you know."

Thomas nodded, though Jimmy couldn't see him. _Of course I still loved you_, he thought with some ferocity. _And I still do, and will always_.

"But I were going away and I thought you'd do better without me," Jimmy said. "I didn't deserve you— never did. All I'd ever done was hurt you and cause you trouble."

"No, Jimmy," Thomas managed. "You were always the best thing."

Jimmy swallowed and opened his eyes, a shy smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. "Really?"

_"Yes."_

The smile came out, tentative. "I were going to come back anyhow, you know," he said. "I changed me mind about saying anything almost as soon as I got in that damn carriage. But I didn't have enough money to come back for a long time. I wrote you only one letter because—because it hurt too much, and I was ashamed, and I couldn't find the right words for it—I told you I'm not much for letter writing. But eventually I _did_ have enough money to come back and I were trying to form a plan, and to work up the courage to… but I thought I might wait until I had a bit more saved, first."

What was Jimmy trying to say? It almost sounded as if he…

"But then Baxter sent me that _letter,_" Jimmy's fingers clenched, digging into Thomas's skin just briefly enough to hurt. "And I was so frightened. So I came back as soon as I got it. I—I didn't even ask permission. Suppose I've been sacked again."

Thomas cleared his throat, his heart beating erratically. "So… did you meet someone in York?"

Jimmy looked confused. "Meet someone…?"

"Yes. I mean a—a man. That you fancy."

Because surely the missing piece to the story was Jimmy's ultimate catalyst—a man he'd met who'd confirmed his nature to him, and solidified his convictions about right and wrong.

Jimmy stared at him, clearly shocked. "Haven't you heard a word I've said? I love _you_, you idiot."

Thomas felt dizzy. "That's not—that's_ not_ what you've been saying—"

"It is so! _Christ_ Thomas—"

"I don't believe you," Thomas said, getting up from the bed and backing away.

Jimmy followed him clumsily, eyes wide. "Don't be stupid, Thomas, I love you madly and have for years! How did you not _notice?_"

"Well h-h-how am I to believe that?"

The world had been turned on its head tonight and no mistake.

"I'll prove it to you!" Jimmy caught his face in his hands and kissed him too quickly for him to pull away. "I'll do whatever you want, I'll tell you a hundred times a day!"

Thomas stumbled away from him like a drunkard, his lips burning where they'd touched Jimmy's. "But you've lost your job—" he protested foolishly.

"I'll get another in the village, I'll dig ditches if I have to! I won't leave you again. I can't!"

Thomas's knees threatened to buckle, and Jimmy darted forward and steadied him.

Then it was _Jimmy_ leading Thomas to the bed and laying him on it, muttering soft reprimands and curses and loving endearments. Thomas's head whirled with hope and disbelief. As soon as Thomas was settled on the pillow Jimmy climbed up next to him and buried his face in Thomas's chest, holding Thomas's gloved hand in his and giving it a fierce kiss.

"We were dearest friends for so long," Jimmy said at one point. "That's got to count for something. You really don't believe I love you?"

Thomas trembled. "It might—it might take me some time."

"That's alright," Jimmy kissed his hand again, his lips warm and soft. "Take as much time as you like, I'll wait."

"You really won't leave again?"

_"No._ Not even God himself could make me."

Thomas wept.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** Since I started this story early in s5, I have kept Thomas's ailment chemical (as most of us assumed) rather than an infection, for the purposes of this fic.

* * *

When Thomas woke it was early morning, and the sun was streaming through the curtains. It had stopped raining in the night, birds were singing, and judging by the heaviness in the attic room it would be a warmer day than the one before. Thomas sat up gingerly. Since the treatment he'd been waking up in pain and nausea, but today he barely ached at all—had he missed his last dose?

Then he remembered _Jimmy._

He looked for Jimmy beside him but found him gone—and for a terrible moment his heart fell like a stone. Then he caught the sound of crinkling paper under his nose as he moved, and found a small note pinned to his chest.

In Jimmy's untidy scratching it read:

_I haven't gone off, I'm at the Grantham Arms. Meet me there tonight as soon as you can get away. And in the meantime rest and eat __well__. You're beginning to look like bloody Nosferatu._

_Love,_

_J_

Thomas reread the note five times before he felt he understood it. It was quite possibly the most romantic thing he'd ever received in writing, which was utterly ridiculous as men had penned him actual _poetry_ before—but there it was.

In a daze Thomas pushed off the blanket he didn't remember using and stood up cautiously. His limbs were still a bit weak and shaky and yet, for the first time in a long time he felt almost… clean. More like his old self. He was even a little hungry, for the first time in ages.

After he dressed for the day, he very carefully folded Jimmy's note and put it in his left breast pocket.

* * *

After dinner that evening Baxter cornered him in the hallway.

"Have you stopped?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Thomas was slow to react. It was like he'd been underwater all day. It was a struggle to bring her into focus, but with an effort he managed it.

"What?"

Baxter's eyes were deep with concern. "I asked if you've stopped… _it?_" she repeated, more gently than before. "You ate all your meals today—I haven't seen you do that in weeks. And you're… you don't look quite so ill."

Thomas nearly snapped at her out of habit— she wasn't his bloody _mother_— but instead he bit his tongue and looked away, annoyed. He hated that he owed her for meddling, hated even more that she knew his secrets full stop.

Hated that he couldn't truly hate her, at all.

"Thomas…?"

Thomas turned to face her directly, his face hard. "You've meddled enough in my affairs," he said coolly. "I know you got into me room somehow and found Jimmy's address. I know you wrote to him about me."

Her brown eyes widened at the accusation, a lie obviously on her tongue. "I swear I—"

He held up a hand. _"Don't_. It's alright. I know you did it because you… care for me. Not sure _why,_" he admitted. _Since I've been nothing but nasty to you._ "But I'm, ah, thankful anyway. This one time, only."

He'd never seen her look so surprised before; her mouth even fell open. Served her right, he supposed. The woman was meddlesome and tiresome in the extreme.

But… she had helped him, in the end.

"Just let me alone and stay out of me business from now on. And I'll do the same for you."

Baxter slowly closed her mouth and nodded, but there was a warmth in her face that hadn't been there before. Thomas wondered if they could become friends, one day.

Maybe.

* * *

A few hours later it was time for Thomas to meet with Jimmy, though he had no idea where the time had gone.

Oddly, he couldn't remember most of the day, though presumably he'd walked and talked and worked as he usually did, since no one had tried to sack him yet. His conversation with Baxter was the only thing he could recall with any clarity— that, and the persistent thought of Jimmy. He'd spent every waking moment since the morning thinking about him, reliving their conversation over and over, recalling their history with new eyes, trying and failing utterly not to speculate on what might happen next.

_To think he was like me all this time,_ Thomas thought yet again, still dizzy with the revelation. But somehow this was not what he struggled with the most.

It was that Jimmy professed to _love_ him.

Thomas was simply unable to wrap his mind around the idea. For so long he'd told himself nothing but _no, not a chance, never never not ever don't even think it ever again,_ that he found it nearly impossible to stop, even now. Even after Jimmy's confession, and his kisses and his tender embrace.

A big part of him feared, too, that he'd arrive at the Grantham Arms only to find Jimmy gone, or that he'd never been there at all. If it hadn't been for Jimmy's note— which Thomas had reached up to touch often throughout the day— then he probably would have assumed he'd only dreamed their encounter the night before. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd had a dream like it, after all.

Baxter watched Thomas leave, where she sat with Molesley in the servants' hall. She gave him a look over her sewing, as if she knew something he didn't and was pleased for him. But of course that couldn't be so— not unless she'd seen Jimmy come or go last night, and had extrapolated based on the evidence… but that wasn't likely, surely?

But all thoughts of Baxter left him as soon as he stepped out under the darkening sky.

_Jimmy is either there waiting for you, or he isn't._

Both possibilities had his heart fluttering unpleasantly, his stomach in knots. He simply had no idea what was about to happen. There were all those memories he had of Jimmy, and then there was last night and the tears and the kiss… and Thomas knew full well the danger he was in. He didn't want to hope, not again, and yet it filled him up anyway until he was utterly petrified.

_But no matter what happens now,_ Thomas reminded himself. _I won't use those drugs again. I won't try to change me nature. I am who I am. And anyway, I made someone a promise, didn't I?_

Though still sick with anxiety, Thomas took some comfort in that.

* * *

It was still too soon when he found himself approaching the inn just as the sun sank behind the gabled roofs.

He paused in the street, and reread Jimmy's note one more time. Then he steeled himself and went in. He gave his name to the wizened innkeeper and was directed to one of the smaller rooms upstairs, where the old man mercifully left him alone at the door.

Thomas took in a shaky breath, his mouth dry as paper. All this seemed to have happened with alarming speed, he thought helplessly. Honestly, shouldn't he still be back at Downton having breakfast? How could he have gotten here so quickly? How had the day passed without him noticing? _Damn,_ but he wished he'd thought to have a cigarette before he'd left. His nerves felt ready to snap.

He raised an unsteady hand to knock anyway, but Jimmy opened the door before his hand fell, spilling a wave of hot air over Thomas and into the hall.

Jimmy was _barefoot_, and dressed down to an undershirt and trousers. His gold hair was a tumbled wreck over his brow, nothing like his usual fastidious styling, and his skin was flushed in the blazing heat. Though his mouth was firm and grave his dark blue eyes were a little unsure, a little anxious. And he was unquestionably, unreasonably beautiful. Thomas looked at him and wondered if human hearts could simply give out from sheer exhaustion.

Wordlessly Jimmy took his wrist, drawing him inside the room's boiling inferno. He shut the door behind them and turned the lock, taking Thomas's hat and jacket for him and hanging them up on the coat rack, bizarrely solicitous.

The reason for the stifling heat became plain when Thomas noticed the large fire burning in the grate. Had Jimmy mistaken it for midwinter, and not late spring?

Thomas didn't know what to say except to ask about the heat, so he kept his mouth shut. Jimmy didn't say a word either, and left him quickly to pull something out from under the bed.

It was Thomas's box, the one with the treatment in it. He hadn't even known Jimmy'd taken it last night, and the sight made him flinch in unwelcome surprise.

"Jimmy, why—?"

Jimmy didn't answer, he just pushed the box into Thomas's hands, and Thomas took it on reflex. Then Jimmy gripped him by the shoulders and turned him bodily to face the fire in the hearth and suddenly he understood.

Jimmy had taken the box from him, and had lit the huge fire so he could destroy it himself. He hadn't been joking, last night, when he'd told Thomas to burn it.

Heart squeezing tight, Thomas only hesitated a moment before tossing the whole thing into the bright orange flames. It caught fire instantly and began to blacken at the edges. The sight made something hard and cold in his chest— something he hadn't realized was still there— loosen and let go. Behind him, he heard Jimmy exhale in a rush.

"I were going to do it myself," Jimmy admitted. "And damn you if you were angry afterwards. But I changed me mind. Thought _you_ should do it, for— for you. Or something."

He sounded awkward and uncertain, and Thomas had never loved him more.

"Thank you, Jimmy," he said softly.

Jimmy's hands gentled their grip on his upper arms. "Can I…?" he asked, strangely tentative.

Thomas nodded, and he felt Jimmy sigh and lean into his back, his arms coming around to encircle Thomas's chest. It was unbearably, painfully sweet, to be held by Jimmy Kent. _Always knew it would be, too_, Thomas thought. He had to brush away tears after a time, but it was all so very _good_, nonetheless.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes:** this chapter is rated **NC-17**, so if you're a kiddie skip this one please!

* * *

For a long time they stood there, watching the flames consume the box and its contents. When Thomas heard the glass inside shatter like tiny fireworks, hissing and popping, he felt a curiously strong surge of mingled relief and victory. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back to rest against Jimmy's shoulder, smiling faintly to himself. Jimmy shifted to accommodate him, his plush lips brushing Thomas's ear. Even in the heat Thomas felt the warmth of his breath over his skin, and shivered.

That little shiver seemed to signal something to Jimmy, because he let go gradually and stepped back.

Thomas turned to look at him. It was fully dark outside now, he realized. The only light came from the fire, and the one electric lamp in the corner.

Jimmy cleared his throat, his cheeks faintly pink. "You're still ill," he said. "You should sit down— I can get us tea and something to eat, if you'd like. Food's nothing like Patmore's, but it'll do."

Thomas shook his head, slowly. He didn't feel ill at all anymore. In fact, he felt very strong suddenly. And he wasn't hungry.

Jimmy licked his lips, his eyes flickering over Thomas, and that was all it took. Thomas reached for him and Jimmy met him halfway, and finally they were back in each other's arms, kissing.

The kisses were soft at first, a little clumsy and hesitant on both sides. Thomas was afraid of how much he felt for Jimmy and what he might do to him if he lost his head, and so he kept a tight hold on himself, kept everything soft and gentle. Jimmy seemed equally bound, by what, Thomas didn't know.

After a time he dared to pull Jimmy closer, and Jimmy's hands came up to cup Thomas's jaw, draw him closer in return. This kiss lasted longer than the others, neither of them parting to breathe. Unexpectedly Jimmy opened Thomas's mouth with a slow slide of tongue, deepening the kiss. Thomas's knees shook beneath him in response.

It was meant to be kissing _only,_ but after that the kisses grew longer and deeper, too intense.

And it _hurt_, Thomas thought distantly, to feel so much heat after being so cold—he'd honestly believed he'd never have this. Never be himself again, never have love or desire, never have Jimmy at all.

But now he _did_ have him. And Jimmy had helped him, had helped give Thomas back to himself.

And Thomas loved him so much already, and loved him still more for that, so very _very_ much—-that hurt, too.

So he let go and kissed Jimmy with all the passion he'd been holding back. He nipped at Jimmy's soft lips until he shuddered and gasped in his arms. Then he pressed in deftly and took Jimmy's tongue in his mouth, stroking it, sucking on it until Jimmy made a_ sound_ that goaded Thomas beyond bearing. The way he fit against Thomas's body, the way he smelled of smoke and sweat and tasted of tart berries— nothing had ever felt so right, not ever. And Jimmy was pressing closer, wanting more, and Thomas couldn't deny him.

Before he could remember exactly where the bed was, Jimmy shocked him by tearing his mouth away, flushed and glassy-eyed. He said something roughly, maybe Thomas's name and a curse, and then he was pulling Thomas's collar aside to kiss his neck. His tongue was slick and soft against Thomas's skin, his teeth sharp. Thomas felt the world tilt sideways, but through the red haze in his brain he saw the bed and began to push Jimmy towards it.

Jimmy allowed himself to be led, and when the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress he finally released Thomas's throat and pulled Thomas down with him. They landed awkwardly, knees and elbows colliding, but they both ignored the hurt, and kept on kissing feverishly.

"Thought you wanted to court, first," Jimmy confessed in the middle of it. Even as he spoke he scattered more kisses over Thomas's face and neck, his hands fumbling to pull off Thomas's tie.

Thomas laughed, breathless. "We still can, after," he promised.

_Just don't stop, please, don't stop._

At some point Jimmy had gotten his hands up under Thomas's shirts, and Thomas shivered and groaned when his nails raked his skin. In retaliation Thomas found Jimmy's bottom and gripped it in both hands, the feel of him exquisite. It was all too much, but still not enough.

So Thomas sat up after a bit and dragged Jimmy's shirt over his head. Then he did what Jimmy had done to him, taking his neck in his mouth and tasting his skin. He touched him, too, running his hands up and down Jimmy's sides, brushing his thumbs over his nipples in gentle passes. He heard Jimmy swear again, felt him writhe beneath him, and then suddenly he was rolling Thomas over with surprising strength, pinning him down to the mattress with both hands on his chest. Frantically he began to tear at Thomas's shirt buttons without much success. Thomas tried to help him, but Jimmy pushed his hands away and fairly split the shirt down the middle, sending buttons scattering to the floor. Thomas felt another flicker of hilarity at that, but he couldn't laugh this time because Jimmy had shifted his hips and Thomas could feel the hard length of him against his leg, even through both their clothes. His brain stopped and ticked over, his own cock aching at just the _thought_ of Jimmy's, hard for him.

Desperate to get him naked, Thomas gripped his hips and pushed him onto his back again. His hands found Jimmy's trouser-buttons easily, his heart racing, but with a great effort he made himself stop for a moment and look at Jimmy's face. He had to be sure, first.

"Are you—"

"Yes!"

Well, then.

So Thomas pulled Jimmy's remaining clothes off, and stopped again, this time to stare.

Jimmy shifted under the scrutiny, chewing his lip, but Thomas couldn't stop looking once he'd started. Jimmy was beautiful, glorious, bloody _sublime_— his skin was glowing in the low light, his lean muscles glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. The elegant breadth of his shoulders and chest, his tight brown nipples, the flat plane of his belly over his thick cock, the muscular thighs and legs bent at the knees,_ all_ of him, bare, was more beautiful than even Thomas had imagined.

And Jimmy was looking at _him_, too. His face was full of want yet his eyes were anxious and vulnerable. And that was somehow… too much. Thomas had to cover his eyes with his hand, as if the sight of Jimmy might burn him. He realized as he sucked in a sharp breath that he'd forgotten to breathe somewhere in the looking.

"Thomas?" Jimmy asked, sounding alarmed. "What's wrong?"

Thomas just shook his head silently, feeling the sudden burn of tears in his eyes. He was being ridiculous, he was scaring Jimmy, but— but he'd only just realized the magnitude of what he might have lost, had he somehow been successful in his endeavor. 'Choose Your Own Path'…_ I am!_ Thomas wanted to shout. The realization was accompanied by a painful surge of joy, one that almost crushed him under the weight of it. _I am choosing my own path, I do choose it, and I'll never regret myself again, or regret him or this. Even if he gets up and leaves me right now— even if I go to prison—_

"Thomas?"

_I am who I am._

"Sorry," he managed foolishly, through the tears. "Nothing's wrong, you're just so beautiful, Jimmy."

He sounded like an overly-sentimental fool and he knew it, but he didn't know how else to explain everything that had just come over him.

Jimmy sat up and touched his hair, softly, questioningly.

"I'm alright," Thomas insisted again. "I'm alright, only—"

There were so many ways he could end that sentence, and all of them would be true. In the end he settled for, "Only it… _hurts_, to be so happy, when I never thought I would be."

_And I never thought you would love me back. But you do, you really do._

Jimmy's hand stroked his hair again, then he went to Thomas and held him close, kissing his shoulder tenderly.

Thomas was still too overwhelmed to be truly embarrassed, so he hugged Jimmy back and tried to ignore, for the moment, the fact that he was still partially aroused. Instead he focused on breathing, on riding out the tide until it receded.

Mercifully the tears and trembling came to an end some minutes later, and he settled quietly into Jimmy's embrace, curiously exhausted, but peaceful.

"Better?" Jimmy asked, so uncharacteristically kind that it made Thomas huff in surprised amusement.

"Yes," he mumbled.

Good lord… what fantastic timing he had. Damn it all to hell, what must Jimmy think of him now?

"You're sweet, you know," Jimmy said suddenly, a grin in his voice.

Thomas snorted, shaking his head emphatically. No one had ever called him sweet before, not even his parents.

"No, you are," Jimmy insisted, squeezing him tighter. "Sod what anyone else thinks. They don't know you. You're kind to me, even when you're hurt. Even when I'm cruel to you. And you love me like—_ you're_ like— a bloody noble prince from a fairy story."

Thomas shook his head again, wondering if Jimmy had lost his mind. "But I wasn't when we first met," he reminded Jimmy. "And I was very cruel to you last night."

Jimmy shrugged. "Maybe, a little."

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, pulling away finally to look at Jimmy. He wiped again at his eyes, wishing his revelation had come at a more opportune moment, instead of when they'd been so close to… Jimmy was probably put off now.

"It's alright," Jimmy mumbled, dropping his eyes when their eyes met.

For a moment Thomas feared he actually _wasn't_ forgiven, but then he noticed the red in Jimmy's cheeks, and the way Jimmy had subtly shifted the blanket to cover himself. He was embarrassed, too, Thomas realized. He was naked while Thomas was not. And even the blanket couldn't quite hide his erection, which had not flagged overmuch during their embrace. Thomas felt his own, less youthful body respond again, now that the storm had passed.

"And I'm sorry, too, Thomas," Jimmy said with more conviction, looking up at him with that familiar, firm-mouthed expression that meant he was being very, very brave. "I have so much more to apologize for and I know it. But I do love you. I— I don't want you to ever doubt it."

Thomas swallowed, his heart thumping. "I won't."

They stared at each other.

Jimmy was the first to look away again, his face now redder than ever. He made as if to get out of the bed but Thomas stopped him, grabbing his wrist instinctively.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Ah, well," Jimmy said awkwardly. "I thought you didn't… want to, right now," he cleared his throat. "It's alright, um, we don't have to—"

Thomas did laugh, then, though he was startled to find he was blushing, too, like the innocent schoolboy he'd never been.

"No, I do— I do want you, Jimmy," he said, shocked that it was even a question. "But if you don't want…we can stop. I don't mind."

Because it occurred to him too late that he'd been very _enthusiastic_ with Jimmy earlier. He hadn't even asked him until they were already in bed if it were what he wanted just then. Jimmy had never been with a man before, after all, and it was all very sudden, to go from friends to nothing for months, and then to lovers in one go… that would be difficult, even for someone who _hadn't_ struggled with himself for years, and been so lost. Thomas shouldn't have been so thoughtless, especially not with the man he loved.

But Jimmy surprised him again. At Thomas's words he looked at him as if he were barking mad and said: "Christ, Thomas, don't be _stupid_—" and then leaned across the bed to kiss Thomas, hard, on the mouth.

When he pulled back to glance uneasily into Thomas's face, Thomas smiled at him and took his hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it as Jimmy had done to him the night before.

"Come here, then," he said.

Jimmy shivered but did as he was bid, letting the blanket fall from his waist before sliding back into Thomas's arms. They kissed, lightly.

When Jimmy picked at his ruined shirt a few moments later, Thomas obliged him by shrugging out of it and dropping it to the floor, along with his undershirt. He was gratified to see Jimmy's eyes widen in reaction, and the feeling only grew stronger when Jimmy ran his fingers through the hair on his chest, shyly and with wonder.

Thomas let him stroke and explore for as long as he could stand it, then he laid Jimmy down on the bed and kissed him sweetly, slowly building the intensity. He was determined this time not to let things get out of hand. He wanted to treat Jimmy right, make it perfect, memorize every detail…

But it soon became obvious Jimmy had not agreed to this plan; the gentler Thomas touched him, the harder Jimmy resisted him, trying to turn the slow kisses into hard, hungry ones. His hands were over-eager, too, alternately sweeping over Thomas's skin in scorching passes, or finding a hold on his hips, his shoulders, his hair, and gripping tight enough to bruise. It was _maddening_. Thomas quickly found himself battling Jimmy _for_ Jimmy, trying to control his mouth and hands, slow him down, before Jimmy broke the tenuous hold he had on himself, too.

Unconsciously he moved his body over Jimmy's to pin him down. But this only seemed to inflame Jimmy further, making him writhe and groan into the kisses, his renewed erection pushing up into Thomas's thigh.

_"Thomas,_" Jimmy hissed in frustration. "_Please,_ just, just—" and his hands found the clasps on Thomas's trousers, pulling at them with his nails. "Take these _off_ and touch me. _God_, I can't— you don't know how I— ah, dreamed about this—"

Thomas shuddered, his body hardening further at Jimmy's words. But he didn't obey his request, not yet, not when he might still manage some restraint with them_ on_. So instead he bent to taste the sweat in the crook of Jimmy's elbow, making him gasp in unexpected pleasure as his tongue traced the sensitive vein. He kissed him there, too, swirling his tongue and sucking gently. Then he found Jimmy's left nipple and gave it the same treatment, ending with a pulling, sucking bite that made Jimmy hiss.

Finally he reached down and drew Jimmy's hand to his lips, sucking on the strong musicians fingers that he'd wanted on his body for _years,_ and now felt the marks of in his skin. This more than anything else seemed to overwhelm Jimmy; he moaned louder and louder the longer Thomas sucked and licked between his fingers, until Thomas was forced to stop lest the whole village hear him.

To silence him, Thomas returned to kissing Jimmy's lush mouth. But Jimmy only kissed him back for a moment or two before tearing his lips away again. Breathing hard, he dropped his head to tongue at the base of Thomas's throat. Thomas groaned and swore softly, trying without conviction to pull him off by the hair. But Jimmy only whimpered in response to the effort and resisted, his hands finding Thomas's bottom and squeezing too-tightly. Then, never stopping the hard sucking pulls at his throat, he forced Thomas's body down into him while he pressed upwards, his trembling hips meeting Thomas's with burning pressure. Even through his trousers Thomas could feel how hot and swollen Jimmy's cock was, and his own jumped and pulsed in sympathy.

Moments later Jimmy turned that pressure into a clumsy, thrusting rhythm, his thighs tightening around Thomas's waist, Thomas groaned and began returning his thrusts, shocked by how close he was to the edge. He watched Jimmy's face beneath his, entranced, until Jimmy began pleading with him to_ please please take off your trousers, Thomas, I can't I can't—_

Dizzy, Thomas rolled over onto his back and yanked at his tight trousers until they released him. Beside him he heard Jimmy gasp something, but he couldn't hear it clearly past the roaring of his blood in his ears.

_"Jimmy,"_ he groaned at the ceiling. He said the name aloud more for himself than for Jimmy, to try to rein himself in and anchor what was left of his sanity. _First time, first time, it's his first time with a man, first time with you,_ he chanted to himself. He couldn't just roll on top of him and take what he wanted— without some kind of care. But he'd never been someone else's first before so he wasn't sure what to say or do, and his first lover hadn't been much good, and oh, god, he really couldn't take much more of this. His plan and his control had so quickly crumbled in the face of Jimmy's ferocity that at this point he was willing to follow his lead instead, should he take it—

"Jimmy, tell me what you want," he pleaded. He could do it then, he thought, he could be careful if Jimmy told him what to do.

But Jimmy didn't answer for a long, long minute; all Thomas could hear was his hard breathing and the crackling of the fire in the grate. Bracing himself, Thomas turned his head to look at him.

Ah, that was a mistake.

Jimmy was too beautiful like this, flushed and glassy-eyed and biting his swollen lip again, his hand fisting his dripping cock but not stroking it. The head of it looked obscenely red above Jimmy's paler fingers, the ones Thomas had sucked. Again Thomas felt a stab of lust so acute it was near pain.

"Tell me, darling, and I'll do it, whatever it is," he said, his voice almost unrecognizable.

Jimmy's hand did move a little at that, just a few involuntary pulls that had his face twisting in pleasure. Thomas couldn't stop his own hand from gripping himself after seeing that, his mouth falling open helplessly.

"But I don't _know_," Jimmy confessed, agonized. "I don't know anything about it, not really, I don't know _how_—"

"Yes you do," Thomas breathed. "You know more than you think, and the rest I'll show you, I promise."

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut, his hand forcing itself to still. "Bloody Christ, Thomas…"

"Tell me."

Jimmy's hand moved again. "I want you— I want you to do whatever you want to me. Whatever you want the most."

If Thomas hadn't been so painfully, overwhelmingly aroused, he would have laughed. But as it was all he could manage was a huffing gasp as his cock throbbed in his hand.

"I can't— because I want to do everything to you, I always have—"

Jimmy moaned and rolled to face him, his hand now stroking himself in firm pulls.

"Tell _me_," Jimmy begged.

Thomas's hand was moving now to match Jimmy's unsteady rhythm, and it was frightening how good it felt.

"T-tell you what?"

Jimmy's hand was so tight around his prick it looked painful, Thomas thought. And he couldn't decide which was a better view— Jimmy's hand around his wet cock or his face, lips red and pupils blown, his expression one of shattering need. Thomas could come just looking at him like this, was about to if he didn't hold on—

"_H-how_ you do it, what we could do together, tell me what we'll do—"

Thomas felt blind with lust and his own pleasure, his prick huge and aching as he stroked himself. But somehow he made himself talk, because it was what Jimmy wanted.

"We could bring each other off with our hands, like this—" Thomas let go of himself and pushed Jimmy's hand aside to stroke him instead, the wetness on his palm mixing with Jimmy's.

Jimmy's hips bucked into his fist at the first touch, but Thomas let go almost immediately. "Or we could push into each other, against each other, like we did before."

Jimmy whimpered but did not touch himself again. He just lay there and stared at Thomas, panting, his cock heavy and leaking onto his belly. So Thomas kept talking.

"I could put my mouth on you, all over and inside you. You could do it to me, too."

Jimmy's entire body shuddered and arched, his face twisting, and for a mad second Thomas thought he might come untouched. But then he settled back down, his entire body shaking and breathless, shining with sweat. It would be too cruel, Thomas thought faintly, awed by what he'd just seen. Even if he could do it, it would be too cruel for a first time. So Thomas took Jimmy's shaking body into his arms and put his hand around him again, his touch gentle on the molten weight of him. He kissed Jimmy's mouth and stroked him firmly and told him to come on him, that it was alright and that he wanted to feel it on his skin. Jimmy cried and gave a little shout at that, his body twisting helplessly. Then his come was sudden and white-hot across Thomas's thighs and groin.

And that was all it took for Thomas— even as Jimmy fell limp into his body, stunned and trembling with aftershocks, Thomas was coming, too, the sight and feeling of Jimmy's pleasure too much to bear.

* * *

Thomas just made it back to Downton before the sun rose, wearing one of Jimmy's shirts under his jacket. His own, damaged shirt, was confiscated by Jimmy and stowed in his trunk. For what purpose Thomas wasn't sure, though judging by Jimmy's face he guessed it was for sentimental reasons. Which was delightful in at least ten different ways.

In fact, Thomas was so happy he felt drunk, or as if he had a miniature sun glowing in his chest now, instead of a heart.

From now on it were he and Jimmy together, against the world— Jimmy had told him so, after they'd woken up in each other's arms. Thomas had only to hand in his notice, pack his things, say his goodbyes, and he and Jimmy would be gone. Neither of them needed Downton anymore. They weren't sure yet where they'd go, or what they'd do— but between the two of them they had enough money saved to take their time, if they were very careful. Thomas wasn't even frightened, for the first time in perhaps his whole life. Because together they were stronger. And cleverer than they were apart. He knew it better than he knew clocks.

They might go to America, get jobs at a fancy hotel. Or they could stay in England, move into the city and open a shop. Or they might travel to the continent, disappear into France or Spain or the somewhere on the Mediterranean. Wherever they went, whatever they did, Thomas couldn't wait to start.

Together— fully themselves, and fully alive.

_~The End~_


End file.
